


Flipped

by BlueOatmeal



Series: Phic Phight 2019 [3]
Category: Danny Phantom
Genre: Angst, Angst and Humor, Asphyxiation, Blood and Gore, Gen, Hurt/Comfort, Innuendo, Non-Sexual Bondage, Phic Phight, Phic Phight 19, Phic Phight 2019, Post-Traumatic Stress Disorder - PTSD, Prompt Fill, Rated For Violence, Team Human, Unethical Experimentation, Whump, heavy on the hurt light on the comfort
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2019-04-27
Updated: 2019-04-27
Packaged: 2020-02-04 20:35:57
Rating: Mature
Warnings: Graphic Depictions Of Violence
Chapters: 1
Words: 5,705
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/18612052
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/BlueOatmeal/pseuds/BlueOatmeal
Summary: Phic Phight 2019Team HumanPrompt by LynsePrompt: The Wisconsin Ghost. Plasmius. Whatever name they call him, Maddie has him captured now.Summary: “Are you finished?” It was a question, and nothing else. Not a taunt. Not an expression of frustration. Probably rhetorical, but it didn’t matter. The professional impassiveness drove home the reality of the situation. He was hogtied in a disused subway tunnel with the woman who’d thrown him under a moving train less than an hour ago.





	Flipped

**Author's Note:**

  * For [Lynse](https://archiveofourown.org/users/Lynse/gifts).



One minute he was harassing the infuriating prick who stole the Coleman Deal from under his nose, the next he was dodging fire while trying not to hit his head on the subway’s handles. Who dared attack him _here,_ in his own territory? He charged a bolt and finally caught sight of his adversary. _Oh._

He fired, making his shot go wide—he had a reputation to maintain, after all—and backed towards the front of the car. Maddie—and didn’t she look _gorgeous_ in a fitted dress shirt and slacks—zig-zagged through the crowd of white-collar wimps.

“You get back here, you waste of ectoplasmic gunk!” She yelled, pulling an implausibly large gun from her bag and switching her handgun out. She’d recognized him.

“Why, hello!” he called. A blast from his hands sent her ducking behind a seat. “Funny seeing you here.” He glanced out the windows, trying to judge how far they’d travelled. He could just phase out of the car and fly off, but A) Maddie, and B) the last time he phased out of the ground without looking he’d run right into an electric cattle fence. He had to try to get out somewhere he recognized.

He’d just remembered that he could just look at a map when he was hit square in the chest with the gun—not gunfire, but the actual gun—he’d seen Maddie wielding. He stumbled backwards and fumbled for the weapon. He’d just gotten a grip on it when it exploded, soaking him in—water? He quickly turned intangible as Maddie swung for his face.

He’d have wrapped up the fight from there, but Maddie’s fist _connected_ with his chin. He was still reeling, more from the shock than the blow, when Maddie deftly grabbed him by the throat, forced him through the subway door, and swung him under the car’s wheels.

And then he woke up.

“Oh, good. I have a few questions for you.”

He could hear Maddie’s voice, but it echoed and didn’t seem to be coming from the right direction. His head spun. He opened his eyes and flinched. She was looking up—no, down; he was upsidedown—at him, with a glare and a sour grin. He cleared his throat and it turned into a cough. He was hanging upsidedown, he was still in the subway tunnel system, he was certain he’d broken something, and he was tied much too tightly for his liking. His eyes widened and he gasped softly. _He’d blacked out_. Was he—? Had he—? He touched his fangs with his tongue and sagged in relief.

He cleared his throat again. “Interesting set-up for an interview,” he rasped, and _wow_ that sounded awful. He tried to turn intangible, then to summon ectoplasm to his hand, then to fly or at least hover, but nothing worked. His ghost powers were on lockdown.

Maddie frowned. “Hm. No. I’ve changed my mind. I’ll start with the physical examination.”

 _Oh_ dear. He bit his lip. Was he supposed to flirt at this point? Or escape? Either way, he hoped Maddie would mistake the burning blush on his face for ectoplasm rushing to his head. He smirked and raised his eyebrows. “Don’t you think that’s rather forward?”

She sighed and rummaged through her bag, lit by a flickering lightbulb on the ceiling that probably hadn’t been replaced in sixty years. “Of all the ghosts to run into… and on the _one_ day I wear my civvies…” She dropped the bag with disgust. “No gloves. Fantastic.” She rolled her eyes and pulled out her phone. “At least I got the camera upgraded. These should come out nice.” She pointed the phone at him. “Say cheese!”

He flashed her a suggestive grin.

She wrinkled her nose at the resulting photo and locked eyes with him. “Gross!” she chirped, with a smile that suggested something entirely different from his. She took more photos, walking around him for different angles.

He tried to twist around, but only managed to confirm that something in his leg was broken. He hissed quietly. “If you let me go, I could give you much better poses. I’m afraid this one isn’t flattering enough.” She didn’t answer.

Now that he was paying attention, he became acutely aware of the scrapes and bruises he’d gotten from the train. How he’d survived _that,_ he wasn’t sure. As the sting set in, he realized that’d he’d probably skinned his forearms and most of his chest. It hurt too much for him to really care whether Maddie appreciated the view.

She came back into his field of vision and pocketed her phone. “A preliminary examination will suffice,” she muttered to herself. “Until I have the rest of my equipment.”

“If you don’t mind my asking,” he said as she stepped closer, “What exactly do you mean by that?”

“Well, a field study, obviously.” She poked him in the eye, and he jerked his head back with a cry.

_“Hey!”_

She ran her thumb over a cut on his chest, then pulled the skin back and leaned in for a closer look. She hummed thoughtfully and muttered something about patterns in torn epidermal layers. She pulled the cut open further.

He clenched his teeth and held his breath. That _hurt!_ Vlad pulled at his bonds and gasped at the resulting pain. When Maddie pushed her fingernails curiously and _persistently_ between two of his ribs, he decided he’d had enough. He ignored Maddie and all the pain. He strained to free his arms, his legs; anything, but the restraints wouldn’t budge.

He tried several more times, writhing madly. Maddie had backed away at some point. Eventually he went limp, out of breath, every nerve lighting up with a searing sensation that stifled thought.

“Are you finished?” It was a question, and nothing else. Not a taunt. Not an expression of frustration. Probably rhetorical, but it didn’t matter. The professional impassiveness drove home the reality of the situation. He was hogtied in a disused subway tunnel with the woman who’d thrown him under a moving train less than an hour ago.

He found her face and let out a long breath. _“Please_ let me go,” he gasped.

She approached again, taking in every detail. Under different circumstances he’d adore the attention, but the situation had stopped being hot when… Actually, he wasn’t sure when. At the moment his only desire was to _get away from her._

“Hm. Any recommendations on the method?” She didn’t bother to address his face.

“Method? What?”

“Of destruction. You do realize I’ll have to eliminate you when I’m finished. I don’t have the equipment to bring you back home, and I can’t let you go free. But I am curious to see how you’ll answer.”

He gave her a blank look. “Don’t?”

She rolled her eyes and sighed. “Disintegration should do it.”

His eyes sharpened. “Oh please,” he scoffed. “And how do you expect to do that? You don’t have anything that could dissolve a ghost. Besides, it wouldn’t guarantee that I couldn’t come back.”

Maddie raised an eyebrow. “Is that so? Why not?”

“Because—” He frowned and shook his head. “No, that’s—”

“Is it true, or just bravado? If it’s true, you should have nothing to worry about. If not, well, I’ll know soon enough anyway.”

He glanced furtively down the subway tunnel. “Well. Ah. Ghosts are made of ectoplasm, but not all of the ectoplasm is material that can be dissolved. Some of it is energy. And some of the matter is plasma, obviously. And then often there are solid bits that just aren’t soluble.” He looked up. “You could dissolve some parts of a ghost, but not others. You’d have to… find a different method to destroy those parts.”

“Interesting.” She put a hand on her hip. “Not terribly convincing though, I must say.”

Vlad closed his eyes and sighed. He couldn’t tell what had broken in his leg and it was bothering him. It was just a mass of agony; he couldn’t localize the pain.

“Say, that’s something I’ve been wondering about,” Maddie said.

“Hm?”

“Hang on.”

Vlad glared as she took something from her bag. She probably didn’t even realize she’d used a pun. She adjusted something in her hand, then slapped him in the face.

He was sent swinging. He shut his eyes tight. After the initial surge of pain passed, he registered what had happened. She’d put duct tape over his mouth and nose. And very securely, he found, when he tried to inhale.

Maddie said something, but he didn’t process it. He couldn’t breathe. He didn’t need to, of course, but he was rather accustomed to it. He didn’t like having things forced over his face. It reminded him of— It reminded him of the stifling facemasks in the hospital. He knew that they were in fact giving him more oxygen, but after so long, it started to feel restrictive. He knew that his breathing issues were the fault of fluid in his lungs and not the mask, but there was a part of him that couldn’t be reasoned with that insisted he get the thing off his face if he wanted to breathe. But he wasn’t allowed. He needed it, they said. He knew that. But he also needed to _breathe;_ why couldn’t they understand? He was suffocating, and they were putting a sealed plastic cup over his mouth and nose. It didn’t make any sense to his fevered mind, and it didn’t make sense now.

Now. He snapped back to the present. His vision cleared. His eyes were wide, his lungs heaved. Tears ran into his hairline. He’d stopped swinging so much, at least. He was _fine;_ he needed to calm down. Every failed pull for air only yielded more panic. He closed his throat and shut his eyes again. He was fine. He was just holding his breath. He was going underwater, or through the ground, or through an airless stretch of Ghost Zone. He didn’t need to breathe; he was a ghost.

Ghost. If he lost himself in his panic, he might transform. Maddie was there. He couldn’t do that. He couldn’t be human right now. He was a ghost, and ghosts didn’t need air. He had to keep his secret. If he transformed now, she might just kill him out of anger. It was bad enough that he was a ghost she disliked; if she knew she’d been lied to—how personal his actions as a ghost had been—no. No. No.

He managed to control himself and hold still. He relaxed as much as possible—slowly; he didn’t need the restraints—what had she used, anyway? Paracord?—didn’t need the restraints biting into him more than they already were.

He found Maddie looking thoroughly intrigued. He imagined she could read the wariness in his eyes and chose to ignore it.

“Did you die recently?”

He gave her a nasty look.

“Touchy subject?”

He ground his teeth.

She shrugged and held up two sealable plastic bags and a makeup bag. “We’ll get back to that.” Without warning, she poked a Q-tip into the corner of his eye. _What_ was she—!? Oh. Tears. She ignored his wince and plucked several hairs from his head. A moment later she poked something into his ear, and he fought down the urge to thrash. He wasn’t certain she couldn’t damage his brain if she poked far enough.

Maddie’s sample-taking continued. She collected scraps of his clothes, skin, flesh, nails, blood-like ectoplasm, and whatever else piqued her curiosity.

Vlad hung in quiet horror. He’d have worked himself into another panic if he wasn’t already sure that she didn’t have a syringe or a bone saw with her. If she had, she’d have used it by now.

Apparently finished, Maddie packed the samples into her bag and considered the ghost in front of her. She reached towards his face. He recoiled, but she ignored it and ripped the tape away.

He drew a huge breath. He coughed, and it took a few tries to settle into a normal breathing pattern. His face stung.

She sat on the floor a few meters away from him. “So, what were you doing in Michigan?”

He stared at her.

“Seriously. Why leave your home state?”

What the hell. “To screw with Yates,” he rasped.

“The suit on the train? Why?”

“Because he’s a menace.”

“How so?”

“He doesn’t pay taxes.”

“Ooh.” Maddie scowled. “I almost wish I’d caught you a little bit later.”

He raised an eyebrow at her. “What about you? I only ever see you in Amity Park. Or Wisconsin, of course. You’re obviously not here on ghost hunting business.”

“I was meeting with a geneticist, actually. She’d read my paper on particle physics and wanted to see if I could apply my theory to a project of hers.”

“Oh? And could you?”

“Only given a limited set of conditions that aren’t particularly helpful at the moment, but yes.”

“Ah, I see.”

She shrugged. “We were able to teach each other some new things, so it was a productive meeting anyway.”

“Mmhm.” Vlad sighed, glad to have even an illusion of calm. His eyebrows scrunched. “Say, there’s a theory of yours I’d like to contest.”

“Really?”

“Yes. I’ve heard that you believe that ghosts cannot feel pain. This of course makes just about anything you could do to a ghost valid, as you couldn’t possibly hurt them.”

“That’s correct. Ghosts—like you—are essentially just malevolent, animated collections of ectoplasm. So any method used to stop you from bothering people is justified. People seem to think that just because you shape yourselves like humans sometimes, that you must be like us. But we’ve disproved that long ago.”

“Right. Well, I disagree. I posit that ghosts _can_ feel pain. Ghosts have more than just a rudimentary consciousness, and have been shown to perform complex tasks and understand complex ideas.”

She raised an eyebrow.

“Some scientists are arguing that some plants even feel pain, albeit in a way humans can’t relate to. I don’t know about that, but it’s not a stretch to say that ghosts are more sentient than plants.”

“Sure; I’ll give you that.”

“Well, even if we’re not quite on par with humans, we would at least share a spot on the intelligence scale with animals, don’t you think?. And animals feel pain. Can you tell me that a dog only yelps when you kick it to trick you into believing it can feel pain, and not because it’s hurt?”

“No. But dogs have nerves like humans. We’ve proven they can feel pain. Besides, they have no reason to pretend.”

“Oh, but they do! It’s the same reason you assume for ghosts, I believe; to garner sympathy from humans in hopes that they’ll benefit somehow.”

She shrugged. “Alright?”

“We may not have nerves, but neither do plants, or the simplest members of the animal kingdom. Yet we cannot be certain that _they_ can’t feel pain.”

“Yes, we can.”

Vlad scowled. “I disagree. Can you be completely certain that not a single ghost can possibly feel pain? I believe your assumptions are blinding you from the real data you’re collecting. Ghosts run away from your weapons. They flinch, they cry out, they act very similar to humans in pain because _ghosts can feel pain.”_

Maddie stood up and pinched his side, hard.

“Ow! It wasn’t an invitation!”

“What does it feel like?” she asked. “Describe it.”

Vlad rolled his eyes. “It’s an unpleasant, uncomfortable signal, like touch but—” He frowned thoughtfully. “Like a sharp… There are different kinds of pain. Sometimes it’s a short sensation, other times an ache, or burn, or strain. The pinch was sharp, but it lingered for a few seconds before fading completely.”

“What about this?” She pressed into a green splotch on his upper arm.

He grimaced and inhaled sharply. “Th-that’s a little w-worse. But the whole area is l-lit up, not just where you’re pressing. What is that, a bruise?”

“Hm.” She tugged him down, putting more weight on his legs where he was suspended from a pipe that ran along the ceiling.

 _“Oh, f—!”_ He gasped and shuddered. “Don’t d-do that.” He felt her hand squeeze his arm again as if to pull again and spoke quickly. “It’s s-s-sharp, and overwhelming—my vision went dark for a second there; it’s clearing up n-now. I think—think my leg is broken. I would appreciate if you didn’t do that again.”

“Broken? But you don’t—”

“I do too have bones,” he snapped. “They’re made of ectoplasm, but they’re still bones and they can still break. So please stop tugging. I’m still getting aftershocks.” He clenched his teeth as electrical signals raced from his leg, stinging as if he’d stepped on a live rail.

Maddie still didn’t seem convinced. Without warning, she dug her fingernails into a cut on his chest and shook him more, further shifting his legs.

Vlad screamed. He thrashed, trying to twist away from her but only exacerbating his injuries. “S-stop! Stop! Holy _fuck,_ stop! Please! Oh my _god!_ ”

She stepped away, and he sagged in relief. He panted through his teeth, eyes clenched shut. He muttered ‘please’ repeatedly until he could calm down.

When he opened his eyes, Maddie was tucking something into her bag. He caught her gaze. “Well!?” he snarled hoarsely. “Come to any conclusions?”

She shook her head. “Nothing concrete.”

“Pff. Nothing in science is concrete.”

Maddie started an explanation on the nervous system and the fact that ghosts didn’t have one. But he couldn’t listen. He was distracted by an uncomfortable heat on his back and a twinge of pain he didn’t remember feeling before. Had he reopened a wound that had begun to close?

He ignored it and jumped back into the conversation, attempting to explain how ghosts didn’t need nervous systems, and that ectoplasm could conduct energy in a way that mimicked nerves.

He halted mid-sentence, eyes unfocusing. The heat had crawled up his back—or rather, down—and the source of the pain had deepened into a solid thrum. The heat had reached his neck when he realized what it was; ectoplasm. Fresh ectoplasm, and not from a superficial wound, or it would be cooler.

He locked eyes with Maddie. “What did you do?” he asked, voice carefully controlled.

She brightened. “So you can feel it! Incredible! A blade that thin can cut without any sensation of pressure. You could only sense it that soon if you were capable of registering pain.”

“Yes, yes,” he said impatiently. “Where did you cut me?”

“Just in the back.”

“How deep?”

“No deeper than an inch or two.”

He thought he had pinpointed the wound. “And at what angle did you, uh—”

She shrugged. “Up and to the right a bit. Does it matter?”

“Yes! I don’t know what you’ve hit, but this shouldn’t… feel this bad.” He glared. “Now look what you’ve done! I’m going to bleed out in an abandoned subway tunnel in _Michigan._ And before you ask; _yes,_ I can in fact bleed out, and _yes,_ it’ll destroy me.”

“You’re not going to bleed out,” she scoffed. “It’s a thin cut, and ectoplasm is viscous. The cut will plug itself before you can lose that much.”

“I don’t believe you,” he snarled. “Not too long ago you wanted to destroy me.”

Maddie shook her head. “I’m far more interested in observing how these injuries heal, and what differences it might make in your behavior.”

“Fantastic. I’ve become a case study.” He gave her the evil eye. “Fine. But for the love of god, _stop hurting me.”_

Maddie frowned at him. She shifted her weight. “So what’s with the name? Obviously there’s more than one ghost in Wisconsin.”

Vlad gaped, thrown by the topic change. “I—? My? Oh, _that?_ That’s not my name. It’s more of a title, really. I’m one of the more openly active ghosts in the state, so I guess it just caught on.”

“What _is_ your name then?”

It had undoubtedly been caught on tape at some point, and it would hardly matter. He suppressed a smirk. “Plasmius.”

Maddie nodded. “A play on Latin word construction and plasma, referring both to the Dracula look with blood plasma and the state of matter that ghosts exhibit prominently—hence the word _ectoplasm_ in the first place _._ Clever. _”_

He allowed himself a tight grin. _“I_ thought so.”

Maddie led the rest of the conversation. When she brought up hotter arguments or inflammatory topics, he engaged her in discussion, but as time ran on, he gave shorter answers and conceded points sooner.

She seemed quieter too, somehow. Subjects that would usually light a fire in her eyes were presented flatly, as if she was distracted by some other thought.

He interrupted her monologue on detection frequencies. “What do you plan on doing with me?”

She blinked. “Bring you back to the lab for further study, obviously. I’ll figure something out.”

He chewed his lip. That wouldn’t do. “Say, would you agree that ghosts are more sentient than animals? Or some of them, anyway? I’d say that we at least have better reasoning capabilities.”

She tilted her head curiously. “There’s evidence to support that idea; yes,” she conceded.

“Well then, if we rank above animals and—for the sake of argument—are at an unknown relationship to humans, _possibly_ lower but definitely above animals, then maybe you ought to ask my consent about things like that. Things like invasive studies. I mean, _really_ ; you have to fill out fifty separate forms—and that is _not_ an exaggeration—to study a single lab rat in a maze. There should be some similar procedure for ghosts, don’t you think?”

She laughed cheerily, then sneered at him. Her whole body language shifted abruptly to display fury. _“Consent?”_

His eyes widened. Uh-oh.

“Let me tell you something about _consent,_ ghost. If you ask a person’s permission to do something, you _must_ honor their answer. No is _no_. _Yes_ is no if made under duress, or in a state of compromised reasoning. If you act without a person’s informed consent, you have violated their rights. Such actions are some of the vilest you can perform. This ability you have to possess people; do you ask them first? Before you puppet them around with no thought to their safety or wishes, do you get an enthusiastic, genuine yes? Ever?”

He gave the smallest shake of his head, mostly because he feared what would happen if he didn’t answer.

“No,” she said. _There_ was the fire in her eyes. “You don’t. You violate a person’s mind every time you decide you want a walk about in a meat suit. Do you know how that feels? _Do you?_ I don’t think you _can.”_

She clenched her fists. “I won’t bother trying to describe it to you. It’s not my job to teach you these things. But let’s get even more personal, shall we?”

He watched her warily.

“You were flirting with me.”

He opened his mouth to object, then snapped it shut.

“You should have picked up on my displeasure. I am a _married_ woman and I am _not_ interested in anyone else. I know for a _fact_ that you know this. You’re almost as bad as Vlad. I’m pretty sure you’ve met _him.”_

Vlad’s ears rang, and the edge of his vision started to go fuzzy. This was bad.

Maddie scowled and looked away. “I don’t know what happened, but now he’s such a _creep._ Doesn’t care about what anybody else wants. Only himself. Maybe he was always like that, and I just didn’t notice. Trying to put the moves on me when I was stranded with my son.” She scoffed and shook her head. “Jack can give him the benefit of the doubt, but that won’t stop me from clawing the eyes out of that son of a bitch the next time he so much as looks at me.”

She turned back to him. “If you don’t want to end up like him, I’d advise you to educate yourself on respect and consent as soon as you possibly can. And live by it.”

He nodded and blinked his vision clear. “Sorry,” he rasped. “I—I can see I’ve wronged you. You’re right. Consent is important.” Whatever she wanted to hear. He was hurt and sore and tired and wanted to go home.

Maddie fell back into a loose stance. “Well that’s a start, at least.” She huffed at the floor and furrowed her brows. She looked up. “Would you be my research subject, Plasmius?”

His baffled expression cleared as he realized she was _asking_ him. _Would_ he like to? He’d love to work with Maddie in the lab again, but as the lab rat? He swallowed and met her eyes carefully. “No, not at this time. But—perhaps, in the future, I might be more willing, as long as I was given the chance to refuse any procedures.”

She gave a disappointed sigh. “Alright.” She rested her head on her hand thoughtfully.

His eyes lit up, and he tamped down his hope, lest it be dashed. “Could you… release me? Please?”

She looked at her phone. “You won’t be getting your powers back for another few hours. I might as well.” She whipped out a knife and cut the cord connecting his ankles to his wrists.

He fell with a splash, face-first onto the dirty subway floor. His legs hit the stone with a loud thwack. He fought a wave of unconsciousness and a veritable tsunami of pain while Maddie cut the rest of his bonds. She stepped away. He laid there, unfolding stiff muscles and working circulation and sensation back into his extremities.

When he opened his eyes he saw that he was lying in a pool of his own ectoplasm. The amount disturbed him. He gradually adjusted to his new position right-side-up on the ground and watched as Maddie began to pack away her gear.

He slowly and shakily pulled himself into a sitting position. His head swam. He was in no shape to fly anywhere, even if he could. Heck, he wasn’t fit to _walk_ anywhere. He’d have to hide, tend his wounds as best he could, and make it home somehow.

This was bad. This was—When he fought Daniel or other ghosts, he usually retreated before he took this much damage. He couldn’t pop into an emergency room, and he couldn’t go waltzing about as Masters. He couldn’t stay. His front was painted with ectoplasm.

“What’s wrong?”

He turned his wide eyes to Maddie. She was still here? Why? “Well,” he said cautiously, “I’m afraid I can’t get anywhere like this. I don’t even think I can stand at the moment. Normally I’d heal rather quickly, but, well. It hasn’t exactly been a normal day.” That and whatever she’d splashed him with back on the train was still suppressing his abilities.

Maddie looked him over critically and hummed. She reached into her bag and dropped a small plastic box on the ground. She kicked it over to his side. “Keep it.”

He’d flinched from the box, but at a second look he saw it was a first aid kit. And well-stocked too, if he knew the Fentons. He glanced up. “Thanks. Thank you.” He opened the box and tried to bandage himself up without jarring his injuries too badly.

Maddie sat down to watch.

He ignored her and made some good progress on his legs. He reached around to his back and jolted awake a second later. He frowned and reached around again. His shoulder made an awful grinding noise, and he lost another second to unconsciousness. He growled in frustration. He needed to get to that deep cut Maddie had given him. He was pretty sure it was still bleeding.

He looked up and yelped. Maddie was right in front of him, unwrapping an absorbent dressing. She wordlessly stepped around him and plastered the thing over the cut.

Vlad kept absolutely still.

She secured it with a few wraps of medical tape and walked back to her seat.

He considered faking difficulty so she’d help with more, but he was in too much pain to entertain the thought for more than a split second. He focused, and worked on the rest of his major injuries.

Once he was sufficiently patched up and marginally more comfortable, he set himself against the damp tunnel wall.

Maddie got up and hefted her bag over her shoulder. She turned to leave.

“Maddie?” Vlad called. It sounded like someone had replaced his vocal cords with sandpaper. “If you see Phantom, could you please tell him where I am?” He raised his palms awkwardly. “I’m not going to fight him, I promise.”

She gave him an odd look. “I will.” With that, she walked off down the subway tunnel, leaving Vlad alone with his spilled ectoplasm.

His eyes followed her until she turned out of sight. The orange lightbulb above him flickered. A train rumbled in the distance. The air was damp. It was cold. He didn’t mind too much; he was feeling uncomfortably hot. Inflammation, most likely. And after being strung up, the slimy bricks felt like plush, overpriced cushions. The musty subway smell mingled with ectoplasm and sweat and settled around him.

His eyelids kept falling shut despite his attempts to keep them open. His thoughts were distorted by static. It would be a while until anyone found him, certainly. There was nothing he needed to watch for. He could afford to rest his eyes a bit, couldn’t he? Just for a moment. Just for a moment.

* * *

He was pulled back to consciousness by a sharp jolt in his shoulder. He hissed and rubbed at the joint. Maybe a pinched nerve. He opened his eyes to look and startled at the green glow in front of him. His eyes focused. There was Daniel, crouching with his arm outstretched and his eyes wide. Ah. _He’d_ jarred his shoulder then.

He sighed in relief. _“Jeez,_ Vlad. I almost thought you were…” He shook his head. “What on Earth _happened?”_

Vlad shifted slowly. He was still caked with ectoplasm, but the pool around him had begun to dry up. Must have been a few hours. He cleared his throat. “Your mom.” He plastered on a dirty smirk. “Maddie and I had a lovely chat, and _afterwards_ … I’d never realized she was _into_ such…” His smirk morphed into a grimace and his head dipped. “She caught me and decided it was a great opportunity for a field study, alright?” he growled. “All this was her work. I didn’t lay a hand on her. Didn’t even get the chance.”

He slumped back against the wall and didn’t quite make eye contact with Danny. “As you can see, I’m not running on all cylinders right now.” He dropped his voice. “And I was wondering… if you could help me get home? Please?” He looked away, then snapped his gaze back to Danny.

His mouth hung open and he gave Vlad an intense stare. He dropped his arms to his sides and straightened. His eyebrows creased.

Vlad tensed and met Danny square in the eyes. He held a hand up as if to stop him. “I-I can pay you back; I can make it worth your time! A f-favor, money, a deal—I’ll do just about anything at this point, just _please_ —I can—I can—I promise I’ll—!" He took a steadying breath. His hand shook _. “Please,_ Danny. P-please.”

He was terrified that he’d be left for dead by the only people who might have a reason to care.

Again.

Danny put his palms up. “Hey, hey, dial it back a bit. As much as I’d love to take you up on that offer, I think you’ve learned your lesson already. Calm it down, okay? I’m not just gonna leave you here, looking like a glow-in-the-dark corpse.” He coughed. “And Daniel is fine,” he mumbled.

Vlad dropped his arm and relaxed. He ignored the heat behind his eyes and the increased stuffiness in his nose. He gave Danny a funny look; something between disbelief, gratitude, and confusion.

“I can fly you home,” Danny offered, shrugging. “No charge. That sound alright?”

Vlad nodded emphatically. He’d suddenly found it a lot harder to speak.

* * *

He only just managed to stay in ghost form the whole way.

Danny hesitated at his doorstep, then continued inside. Vlad wasn’t going to be able to walk to a seat any more than he could walk to the next state. He set him down on a couch and let him get comfortable. It took Vlad a few minutes to remember that he could transform back.

Danny caught his attention before he could fall asleep. “Hey, Vlad?”

He pried his eyes open. “Mm?”

He shifted his weight. “You, uh, you’re not gonna die, right?”

Vlad yawned. “I hope not.”

Danny fidgeted with his hands and raised an eyebrow. “You gonna stop chasing my mom?”

He stared dully at the ceiling. “She really doesn’t like me, does she?”

He quirked a smile. “She really doesn’t.”

Vlad huffed and shut his eyes. “There’s just no accounting for taste.”

Danny snorted. He scanned the dark room. Moonlight seeped in through the windows. Everything was motionless. He kneeled. “Seriously though, are you gonna be okay? I could fetch some painkillers at least.”

Vlad took a slow breath. His home was so quiet. Not where he’d prefer to die, but there were far worse places.

His tone was remarkable in its bare honesty. “If I make it through the night, I’ll never pursue Maddie Fenton again.”

Danny leaned close, eyes bright. “Can I have that in writing!?”

Vlad smacked him lightly in the face. “You can have it in blood,” he deadpanned. “Now go away; I’m trying to sleep.”

He heard Danny trot away. Vlad settled into the couch and listened for the whoosh when he took off.

But as he slipped into unconsciousness he heard Danny not flying away, but rifling through his kitchen cabinets. Where he kept a fair amount of his medical supplies.

Huh.

**Author's Note:**

> Oh my gosh I had so much fun with this prompt aaaahh!! I wanted to flip their interaction dynamic so that Maddie had the undeniable and total advantage for once.


End file.
